


Salted

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, IM SORRY OK, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, also i have refused to use the word cock in this, look just, not that the content itself isnt devillish, oh god i can feel the devil breathing down my neck, or was it, you will not be seeing that devillish word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back on it, Shigeru didn’t really mean to watch it play out before his eyes like a late night, guilt-ridden porno.</p><p>It just… happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salted

**Author's Note:**

> This is 4.6k words of me being absolutely disgusting and I hate myself.
> 
> This is, by the way, my first time writing PWP or smut that isn't grossly emotional, so.... yeah. I apologise.
> 
> A PSA also,,, it's not Yahaba's first time peeking in on Tooru and Hajime's... activities,, so this isnt some kind of dubious content type shit mk. I just couldnt include that in the fic bc it sounded awks mb.

Looking back on it, Shigeru didn’t really mean to watch it play out before his eyes like a late night, guilt-ridden porno. 

It just… happened.

 

* * *

 

 “You’re— _ah! —_ being awfully pushy today, Iwa-chan.”

Tooru chuckles against his lips as Hajime pins him against the door to his locker, the flimsy metal material rattling loudly as Tooru’s back collides with it.

“What happened to ‘taking it slow?’” he continues, his own hands acting in opposition to his nonchalant words as they slide down the curve of Hajime’s back to firmly grope his ass.

“Shut up,” Hajime growls, shifting closer to press his mouth to the long column of Tooru’s throat, relishing in the silvery moans bubbling up from between Tooru’s lips as he licks and sucks a mark into the pale, untouched skin. Tooru’s hands pause in their machinations, half out of surprise, half out of anticipation, as Hajime trails his hands beneath Tooru’s shirt, sliding along the dips and grooves of his abdomen, before settling his palms over the muscles of Tooru’s chest.

Hajime rolls one of Tooru’s hardened nipples between his thumb and finger, watches Tooru’s immediate reaction, the way he throws his head back with an unabashedly loud moan, the way he bites his lip and the way his body trembles beneath Hajime’s palms, the way his hands tighten their hold on Hajime’s behind.

With his other hand, Hajime rubs soothing circles along the curve of Tooru’s ribs, relishes in the goosebumps erupting beneath his fingers as he pulls vulnerable whine after another from his boyfriend. “God,” he whispers, lips brushing Tooru’s with every word. “You’re gorgeous.”

Tooru’s eyes shoot open in surprise, before a soft blush, pink and beautiful, settles over the tip of his ears.

“What’s with you today, Iwa-chan?” he queries in a whisper. Hajime does not grant him the luxury of a worded reply, opting instead to lurch back in, pressing his lips to Tooru’s in a passionate kiss. Tooru moans freely against him — he’s always been the louder of the two — his breath fanning across Hajime’s cheek, cool wind against overheating flesh, before he feels the press of a tongue, almost hesitant, along his bottom lip. Opening his mouth, Hajime gives permission for Tooru to lick into his mouth, to press and curl his tongue against Hajime’s. When Tooru pulls back for breath, he doesn’t do so before running the the tip of his tongue along the back of Hajime’s teeth.

The feeling has Hajime very quickly losing what small amount of patience he’d managed to gather during practice, and watching his teammates slowly trickle out of the changing room at a Friday night pace, slowly, unbearably slowly.

Huffing out a breath, as if that could, in any way, help the way he feels like the air has been punched from his lungs at the sight of Oikawa Tooru, lips bruised-red from kissing and eyes glazed over by his machinations, Hajime leans back in to slot his mouth against Tooru’s. Insistently, he tugs at the hem of Tooru’s uniform shirt, urging him to take it off.

When they break apart for the third time, breaths pushing and pulling out of each other’s mouths, a string of spit connects their lips. Hajime laps it up slowly, watches as Tooru’s gaze zeroes in on the movement of his tongue and lips. He feels almost giddy at the way Tooru’s mouth drops open in barely contained arousal.

Tooru leans back, away from Hajime for just a few seconds that feel like years to the both of them, in order to struggle out of his jersey. The moment Tooru’s bare chest is exposed to him, Tooru having haphazardly thrown his shirt somewhere to their right, Hajime dives in, presses the curve of his mouth to Tooru’s collarbone in a kiss almost too gentle for what he’s planning, before he drags it down, slowly, tongue peeking out to teasingly lick over sweat-slick skin.

He trails small kisses over Tooru’s sternum, down over the swell of his pectorals and then, lower, to the dips of his abdomen. He relishes in the way Tooru’s muscles tense and quiver beneath his touch, rolling beneath pale skin, goosebumps breaking out as small ‘ah’s leave his pretty lips.

Before Tooru can so much as dictate their next move, Hajime drops to his knees.

“Iwa-chan?”

Hajime does not reply, opting instead to press his lips back to Tooru’s skin. He traces the V of his hips with his tongue, barely holding back a smile when Tooru giggles above him from the tickling touch. He runs one hand up Tooru’s abdomen, relishing in the smoothness of his skin, before he trails it back down, until his palm makes contact with the trail of hair leading to the hem of Tooru’s shorts.

He toys with the waistband, slowly teasing his fingers between Tooru’s skin and the elastic fabric, and pulling away, just enough to seem hesitant, considering, before he finally hooks them in the waistband. Slowly, he rolls both Tooru’s shorts and underwear down, and Tooru gasps in relief above him as his length is freed from the uncomfortable confines of his briefs.

Briefly, Hajime contemplates teasing Tooru, contemplates hovering his mouth around Tooru’s most sensitive spot but not quite touching it, contemplates marking the inside of his thighs with a myriad of red marks as a reminder, for the days to come, of what’d transpired this very evening, but he pushes the idea to the back of his mind, cataloguing and storing it for another day.

What he has in store for Tooru does not include _this_ specific type of teasing.

Tooru heaves a sigh that sounds almost impatient, and Hajime snaps back to the present. Leaning forward, he nuzzles around the base of Tooru’s shaft, letting his breath be the first caress that graces the boy above him. Already, Tooru’s knees buckle, and Hajime reacts by bracing his hands on his thighs, before Tooru manages to snap his legs back in a vain effort at holding himself upright.

Hajime starts slowly, licking a long, lazy stripe up the underside, relishing in the first guttural moan erupting from deep within Tooru’s chest.

“Yes,” Tooru hisses, his hands unconsciously moving down to thread his fingers into Hajime’s coarse hair, the grip a grounding feeling, when Hajime can barely take a breath without getting the notion of drowning.

He looks up, meets Tooru’s hooded gaze with his own, and holds it as he wraps his lips around the tip of Tooru’s length, eagerly lapping up the precome that spills against his tongue. He suckles, first, twirls his tongue around the head of Tooru’s erection, earns a delectable whine of _Iwa-chan,_ before he engulfs more of Tooru’s length in his mouth. He then slowly dips down, taking Tooru in  inch by inch, before he pulls back, hollowing his cheeks and _sucking._ Tooru whimpers above him, his hand unconsciously tightening in Hajime’s hair.

The slight discomfort brought by the pull on his scalp has Hajime moaning around Tooru, the vibrations earning a loud keen and an involuntary snap of Tooru’s hips forward. Tooru bows forward, hands sliding down the back of Hajime’s head and curling around his nape, as if in silent apology.

Hajime can’t help it. He smiles, despite his lips being pulled tight around Tooru’s length, and pushes back over it, bobbing his head and taking Tooru in as deep as he can go, until finally, his nose is buried into the russet curls, pressing against the skin of Tooru’s pelvis. Tooru moans, high, and silvery, and whiny, and oh so _Tooru,_ above him, his fingers tightening against Hajime’s skin, almost bruising. Hajime knows it’s worth the uncomfortable prickling of tears at the corners of his eyes.

It isn’t long after that Hajime feels Tooru rub soothing circles against the back of his neck, before carding his hands through Hajime’s hair once more. Hajime relaxes into the touch, as if by habit, _definitely_ by habit, his shoulders dropping, chest heaving around a easy sigh, and that is when Tooru tightens his grip on the back of his head.

“Sorry,” he grunts. “Can I?”

Hajime nods — as well as he can, with Tooru’s length pressing heavy and hot against the back of his mouth — an indication that he will let Tooru do as he pleases.

For now.

Tooru slowly pulls his hips back, the drag of Hajime’s tongue against the underside of his erection ripping a moan from his chest, until ass is pressed flat against the cool metal of the locker behind him. He gives Hajime just a second to prepare, watches his brow furrow in anticipation, before he thrusts forward, pushing his length past Hajime’s soft lips and hitting the back of his throat with a squelch. Hajime swallows feverishly around Tooru’s length, feeling more tears well up at the corners of his eyes and push the ones already present to slide down his cheeks, but he refuses to look away from the way Tooru chews on his bottom lip, from the way Tooru’s eyes slip shut in bliss.

He loves it.

He loves the feeling of his drool mixed with precome, dripping down his chin, the weight of Tooru on his tongue, the heady scent that accompanies Tooru, the scratch of Tooru’s nails against his scalp. He loves the feeling of Tooru’s voice melting into incoherent praise above him, of Tooru’s trembling thighs beneath his fingers, of Tooru’s small grunts and moans, unrestrained, vulnerable, as he fucks into Hajime’s mouth. He wants more, wants all of it, wants Tooru, Tooru, _Tooru—_

“Haa, Iwa-chan—“

Hajime taps Tooru’s thigh twice, an indication that he’s had enough, and Tooru pulls off immediately, a loud pop echoing across the locker room and bouncing along the walls from Hajime’s suctioned mouth. Hajime heaves a few breaths, takes in the sight of Tooru, lips bitten-red, chest mottled in a deep red flush, and hazel eyes glazed over, pupils blown wide.

He’s gorgeous, like this.

“Get down,” he rasps out, voice hoarse. He gestures to the bench positioned between the two neat rows of lockers, and Tooru complies wordlessly, stepping out of his pants before making his way over. He swings a leg over the cool metal surface, and plops himself down, straddling it. Hajime takes the time to catch his breath, rubbing at his jaw, now sore from being dropped open for so long, but no matter, before he drags his sports bag to rest against his thigh as he digs into it. Pulling out the nondescript bottle of lube — which had been one too many times confused for hand sanitiser — and a foil packet, he, too, makes his way over to the bench.

After shucking off his own shorts and underwear, and gingerly stepping out of them, Hajime roughly removes his own jersey, throwing it somewhere behind himself, before he sits down on Tooru’s lap. Tooru’s quickened breathing hitches when their bare erections bump against each other, in just the right way, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through Hajime’s blood like an electrical current.

Tooru’s hands settle on Hajime’s thighs, fingers cold compared to the way Hajime’s blood feels like it is boiling up under his skin. He squeezes the firm flesh, before he inches up, touch feather light, to Hajime’s hips, and then his waist. Tooru strokes, almost reverently, along the ridges of Hajime’s ribs, before leaning forward and wrapping his arms around him, caging Hajime in the searing heat of their bodies pressed against each other as he rubs a soothing hand up and down Hajime’s back.

Hajime can’t help the way his mouth drops open with a sigh at the manner in which Tooru is being so gentle, compared to the usual carelessness with which he handles Hajime. Not when it feels so good, so hot, so close, and _loving_. Tooru ducks his head, and presses one soft kiss to the junction between Hajime’s shoulder and his neck, before he bites down, _hard_.

Hajime jolts, a small moan erupting from his throat at the sensation, precome leaking from his own erection at Tooru’s sudden change in demeanour. Tooru hushes him with a small whisper, with strong fingers pressing between his shoulder blades, before he drags the flat of his tongue against the dented marks that his teeth had left behind on Hajime’s flesh, soothing the pain just enough to turn it into burning pleasure.

Keeping his mouth firmly pressed to Hajime’s skin, Tooru moves down, dragging a searing, wet trail down Hajime’s chest, until he reaches the peaks of his nipples. With a soft sigh, the breath sweeping over Hajime’s flesh almost soothing, Tooru wraps his lips around a perked bud. Hajime gasps, hands involuntarily wrapping around Tooru’s arms, nails digging into supple flesh and leaving crescent-shaped dents in their wake.

Tooru slowly strokes his tongue over the sensitive bud, earning a hiss from Hajime — he’s never been loud, especially not during the times when they find themselves wrapped around each other like vines, but Tooru sure as hell is testing him — and Hajime throws his head back in a silent keen when Tooru pinches a nipple between his teeth and tugs. His hand lifts away from Hajime’s back to come back to his front, where he rolls Hajime’s other nipple between his fingers. Hajime ducks forward, hides his face into the skin of Tooru’s shoulders, muffles his small whimper as Tooru gropes his chest, sucks on the sensitive buds of his nipples.

Despite how much Hajime enjoys the feeling of Tooru’s attention, he has a plan to set in motion.

Eyes flicking to the half-open doorway of the changing rooms, Hajime momentarily wonders if he’d just seen a movement. After keeping his gaze locked onto the darkened hallway, and determining that perhaps it’d just been his imagination, he glances at the clock propped up against the wall, on top of one of the lockers. 6:57 P.M.

Not yet.

Placing his hands on the broad expanse of Tooru’s shoulders, he first kneads the flesh, before roughly shoving him back, until Tooru’s back collides loudly against the cold surface of the bench. Tooru yelps, eyes widening and mouth opening in surprised question, but Hajime simply grins at him, a premonition that whatever’s coming cannot possibly be good for Tooru.

He hesitantly reaches up to place his hands on Hajime’s hips, if only for leverage, but Hajime simply slaps them away.

“You don’t get to touch,” he says, voice raspy. “Not yet.”

Tooru whimpers, but obeys. He watches as Hajime pushes himself up to his knees, and reaches for the discarded bottle of lube. When he finds it, the bottle having rolled off the bench and along the floor, until it’d gotten caught on a forgotten pair of sports shoes, he grumbles a small string of profanities, and Tooru giggles.

Shooting him a glare, Hajime places his hand down on the floor to brace his weight, and reaches for it with the other. Catching it between two of his fingers, Hajime straightens up again, and pops open the cap. He catches Tooru’s smouldering gaze as he drizzles the lube over his fingers. Some of it drips down onto Tooru’s abdomen, cold liquid against hot skin, and Tooru jolts in surprise, almost losing control over his limbs. From the trembling of his legs beneath Hajime, he can tell that Tooru is using every ounce of self-restraint possible to not reach forward and brace his hands on Hajime’s thighs.

Flashing Tooru a small smile, Hajime reaches behind himself, fingers pressed against his entrance. He circles them there, once or twice, watches with greedy eyes as Tooru glances down between his legs, before he presses two fingers into himself, up to the knuckle. First, he hisses at the small amount of discomfort, but soon, the stinging gives way to a pleasant heat, crawling up his spine with each push and pull of his fingers. Eyes rolling back and slipping shut as a small moan parts his lips, Hajime continues fingering himself, relishing in the tiny whimpers escaping Tooru’s throat.

“Iwa-chan,” he hears Tooru hiss, and can barely hold himself back from smirking triumphantly. He scissors his fingers, braces himself on the bench right above Tooru’s shoulders, mouth open around small pants, before he twists his wrist, putting pressure against that one spot that has precome oozing from the tip of his length and onto Tooru’s quivering abdomen.

Impatient, Hajime puts in another finger, hissing at the newfound stretch, before scissoring quickly, trying to get his prep done as quickly as possible, wanting the stretch of something else, of something more intimate inside of him.

“You look so good like this, Iwa-chan,” Tooru murmurs, cheeks darkening at his own admission. Hajime feels his blush spread like wildfire down his neck and across his sternum, feels a pout form on his lips before he can so much as school his expression into something other than completely bashful. Once more, something flashes in his peripheral vision, and the pout falls off his face to give way to a grimace as he pulls his fingers out.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, eyes not leaving the darkened hallway.

He could’ve sworn…

He glances at the clock.

7:07 P.M

He tears his attention away from the clock to look around for the condom. Once he spots it, he reaches for the foil packet with shaking fingers, tearing it open and shuffling back to sit over the downward slope of Tooru’s thighs. He reaches for Tooru’s length with one hand, gives it a few swift strokes, before he places the condom on the tip of it and rolls it down, mechanically and carefully, so as not to weaken it and cause a disaster.

Hajime shimmies back up Tooru’s body, and rolls his hips, slowly, almost lazily, brushing the length of Tooru’s erection with his slicked entrance as he dips down and steals another kiss from Tooru. Tooru whines against his lips, the vibrations leaving his mouth tingling as he pulls away, before he grabs Tooru’s erection, aligns himself and finally, finally, sinks down on him.

Tooru growls, fists clenching at his side to stop himself from touching the boy in his lap. His eyes widen the moment they connect with Hajime’s, desperate, pleading, but Hajime just shakes his head, chest heaving as he slowly accommodates himself to the intrusion inside him, as he slowly slides down until his thighs press flush against Tooru’s.

When he finally bottoms out, they both moan, chorused by each other’s heaving breaths.

“Please,” Tooru whimpers.

Hajime grins, feral, dangerous. “Not yet,” he says, with a small shake of his head. “You don’t get to touch yet.”

Without taking enough time to catch his breath, Hajime begins bouncing atop Tooru’s lap, thighs already burning from their gruelling practice session. He braces one hand on Tooru’s chest, and the other, he trails along his own torso. Softly, he runs his hands along his neck, where Tooru has left a constellation of bites and bruises, before he runs it down his chest to press his thumbs against his nipples. With a small smile, he watches Tooru’s gaze zero in on his movements, well aware of Tooru’s wishing that he, too, could touch him.

Not yet, Hajime decides, eyes darting to the doorway once more. His bouncing falters as he catches a small movement within the darkness of the hallway, a brief flash of blue uniform. Squinting, he resumes his earlier movements, momentarily taking a look at the clock.

7:19 P.M

Glancing back at the doorway, Hajime dips down to claim Tooru’s lips in a kiss, both because he wants to, and to make Tooru quiet down, though the insistent press of his mouth against Tooru’s does nothing to stop the silvery sounds escaping from deep within Tooru’s throat. It takes another few loud moans from Tooru before their impromptu guest appears.

Hajime glances up the moment he catches the movement in his peripheral vision, only to come face to face with Yahaba Shigeru. Yahaba’s eyes are wide open, and he remains, frozen, barely visible in the dim light of the setting sun as he hides behind the wall, gripping the doorframe with a shaking hand.

Hajime grins.

Finally.

He watches recognition settle across Yahaba’s features when he realises that he’s been caught. Glancing down at Tooru, Hajime finds that the latter’s eyes have slipped closed in bliss at the push and pull of Hajime’s body above and around him. Not to worry about that, then. 

Hajime’s gaze slides back up to Yahaba, who has ducked back around the wall, but Hajime can still see the supple curve of his hair, the slight peek of a single, brown eye, taking in the sight of a completely wrecked Tooru, laid out on the locker room bench, head thrown back and beautiful, red lips parted around loud keens and whines. Hajime knows, on a certain level, the way Yabaha looks — has always looked — at Tooru: with admiration, with want, and a hint of jealousy. 

Jealousy, which is flaring behind a wide eye as Hajime’s fingers skate along the curve of Tooru’s chest, as they earn the most delectable moans from the boy below him by clamping around a nipple, by rolling the bud between sure fingertips.

Hajime hadn’t anticipated this reaction from their levelheaded future captain, but damn him if the emotions flitting behind that single eye don’t turn him on even more.

He can adjust.

After all, Tooru isn’t the only show-pony on the team.

Bracing himself with both hands on Tooru’s chest, this time, Hajime begins riding Tooru _hard_. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes along the walls of the locker room as he bounces on top of Tooru. His eyes roll back into his head as he comes down over Tooru at a particularly good angle, and Tooru’s breathless moans only spur him on, push the burning soreness of his thighs to the back of his mind in favour of dragging more of those sounds out of Tooru.

“Please, please let me touch you, God, I need— Iwa-chan, _Hajime,_ please!” Tooru’s babbling, mumbling a litany of pleases into the stifling hot air of the room, and Hajime gauges not Tooru’s reaction to the begging (despite the fact that he knows Tooru’s cheeks must’ve coloured, that his eyes must be clamped shut in embarrassment), but Yahaba’s, whose fingers have turned entirely white in their strong grip on the doorframe.

Finally, he relents, with a curt nod, but his eyes don’t leave that darkened hallway. He groans, loud enough even for Yahaba to hear, he knows, when Tooru’s hands land on Hajime’s hips, then slide up, leaving red streaks in their wake as Tooru digs his nails into Hajime’s skin. Tooru’s eyes widen slightly at Hajime’s theatric reaction, but he isn’t deterred. A small grin slices his face, and he meets Hajime’s gaze with his own glassy one.

“Iwa-chan,” he breathes, and the amenability of it is Hajime’s breaking point. For the first time in a long while, Hajime lets himself moan, freely, loudly, obscenely, echoed by the sound of skin slapping against skin.

He only snaps out of his heated stare at the doorway when Tooru wraps slender, almost cold fingers around his length, shocking Hajime out of his rhythmic bouncing. The tiny moment of hesitance is enough for Tooru to flip the tables, to sit up, plant his feet on the tiled floor beneath the bench, and wrap his arms around Hajime’s waist, before he begins thrusting insistently into Hajime, earning a string of heated curses from him as Tooru's length slides home perfectly, pressing against Hajime’s prostate in a way that has him seeing stars.

No matter his state of mind, Hajime does not let Yahaba go. Wrapping his own arms around Tooru, he digs his nails into Tooru’s flawless skin and drags his hands down the expanse of his back, leaving long red stripes from the base of Tooru’s neck to the sharp angle of his hips. His gaze slides back to the doorway just as Tooru muffles a deep moan in Hajime’s shoulder. Yahaba has shifted, half hiding behind the doorframe, half eyeing the scratch marks on Tooru’s back.

With a small grin, Hajime begins mouthing at the graceful column of Tooru’s throat, relishing in the small, breathless whimpers bubbling up past the latter’s lips.

“I’m close,” he whispers.

Tooru bites his shoulder in response, over the earlier teeth marks, earning a rough growl from Hajime, before he whispers, forehead pressed into the flesh of Hajime’s shoulder, “Come for me.”

It only takes another few hard thrusts before Hajime is coming, splattering white hot over both of their chests. His eyes slide shut despite his wishes, and he moans out his release, body tensing and clenching down over Tooru’s length. Tooru follows behind, high pitched whines muffled against the skin of Hajime’s throat, before he suddenly collapses, letting himself backward against the bench, dragging Hajime down with him.

Hajime presses his forehead into Tooru’s chest, listens as Tooru’s heartbeat slows from frenzied to normal, before he finally manages to do so much as lift a single arm to run his hand along the curve of Tooru’s cheek.

“You’re mean, Iwa-chan,” Tooru breathes, a small smile curling the graceful corners of his lips, his own hands coming up to frame Hajime’s face. Hajime ducks down, presses his lips, slick with spit and sweat, against Tooru’s in a slow, languid kiss. When they break apart, the blush on Tooru’s cheeks has faded from a bright crimson to a charming pink, and Hajime takes it all in, momentarily forgetting the third party in the building. He studies Tooru’s lashes, long and curved, the freckles peppered over the ski-slope bridge of his nose, and finally, the swollen, red lips, parted around soft pants as he recovers.

When Tooru catches Hajime staring, he smirks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hajime immediately grumbles, rolling his eyes playfully. “You’re beautiful and you’ll start charging me a thousand yen a minute if I stare for too long.” He pulls off of Tooru as he speaks, wincing at the small sparks of oversensitivity that Tooru’s soft length still sends coursing through his body.

Tooru then takes the cue to sit up, rolls off the condom with care, before he ties it up and walks over to the corner of the locker room, where the bin is situated.

Hajime shifts, bends down to rifle through his bag, triumphantly whipping out a packet of tissues. He pulls one out, tosses it to Tooru, who squawks in indignation as it simply flutters to the ground, at least a meter away from him. Hajime rolls his eyes, holds out another tissue, and waits patiently for Tooru to pluck it from between his fingers before he pulls out another one, and wipes his own come from his chest. As he does so, he glances at the clock for a last time.

7:36 P.M.

Tooru mumbles something as he wipes the slowly congealing fluid from his chest.

“What was that?” Hajime queries.

“I think Kyouken-chan’s locker is unlocked,” he says, louder, and Hajime briefly wonders how the _hell_ Tooru is noticing this, considering he's still coming down from his own high. Tooru drops the tissue on the floor, earning a grumble from Hajime, before he tugs at the respective locker’s door. It slides open easily, and Tooru gasps. “How irresponsible!”

“You’re an idiot,” Hajime argues as Tooru shuts the door solemnly, as if this mere action were to give him good karma. “Nobody’s going to steal anything from him, and we lock the door after we leave anyway.”

Tooru tilts his head back, flashing Hajime a playful grin, before he tears the door open once more and takes no time beginning to rummage through Kyoutani’s belongings, _ooh_ -ing and _aah_ -ing at the clean pair of socks and underwear he’d left behind.

“Look! They’re dog-patterned boxers!”

“You have such a terrible personality,” Hajime says, and makes absolutely no move to stop him.

 

* * *

 

It’s not that Shigeru intentionally walked in on such an erotic scene between his captain and his vice captain.

Though it seems the intention was still there, whether it was his own or not.

Because his phone hangs heavy in his pocket, next to his extremely uncomfortable erection, pressed against the front of his pants, both of which he is trying very hard to ignore. Especially his phone, which he knows still has a lit up screen, from a notification that he should perhaps have ignored.

From: Iwaizumi-san (6:37 P.M)

_You forgot your shoes. Come get them quick, we’re about to lock up._

**Author's Note:**

> Just.... I apologise. I wrote this in one day, frustrated, because I saw someone call oikawa a "definite bottom" and i wrote this out of complete spite. It's been proofread a few times and i spent like,,, literally 17 hours on this straight,,, 
> 
> Feel free to comment to scream at me.


End file.
